The Peace Maker
by Espiritus
Summary: Oneshot. Just how far would Kaoru go to protect Kenshin from his enemies? KK.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rurouni Kenshin. I tried a different writing style for this fic. Its like in the past first-person or something. I hope it doesn't throw anyone off.

_Summary: Just how far would Kaoru go to protect Kenshin from his enemies? KK._

**The Peace Maker  
**_Espiritus_

It was on a strange night in March when the man with a green tattoo came. I can remember the tattoo exactly; a snake wrapped around the man's neck, silver fangs showing with malice, and monstrous black eyes. The scene was not one any person could take lightly especially when the man held a dull, shinning sword in his left hand like a limp whip.

"Can I help you, sir?" I had asked despite knowing, deep inside my heart, what he truly wanted. What kind of man would enter a residence uninvited, with a sword unless the Battousai lived within the said residence?

"Battousai," he answered softly.

The man's voice was neither pleasant nor cruel but a strange type of normal which made it uncommon and sent shivers racing inside me. The man's harsh, electric blue eyes glowed with energy so much that it prickled my skin and raised the hairs on my arms. I wanted to smile then but no smile would come. I knew could fight the man and lose. I could fight the man and maybe, doubtfully, win. I could have told the man Kenshin was not here, and so I did that because that was the truth.

Kenshin had left that strange day in March earlier that morning with Sanosuke and Yahiko leaving me behind. Of course, I had felt bitterness towards Kenshin for taking a boy who was my student, but I held my tongue in the end. Needing something to rationalize Kenshin's choice to leave me behind, I told myself Yahiko needed to learn without my presence. I could not swallow the thought of my weakness, because I had never thought myself completely weak.

"I'll wait then." The man had said in that uncommon voice of his leveling me with striking blue eyes.

Maybe he had thought that I would kneel down to the superiority of men, of him. Never. I wanted to laugh. I had enough of chauvinist thoughts that strange day in March.

I remember tilting my head to the right and rolling up my sleeves with a calmer composure than I would have thought, especially when faced with a man who could have probably killed me without a shred of remorse. Yet I had known that this enemy of Battousai's was different. I do not know how I could tell, he just was. There was the tattoo, the voice and the eyes, and all spoke out to me in spasms of hope.

"I think you should leave," I said my voice firm and calm just as my composure was. He raised one black eyebrow, said nothing, and stood.

"Are you his woman?"

Of all the questions Kenshin's enemies ask, I really think that one is their favorite. Am I his woman? _Yes_, I sometimes would like to say, _I am just an object with no name, thank you for noticing_. I never voiced my thoughts since no one would believe me, and as much as I would liked to have Kenshin's heart, his love, I did not want to be his possession.

I had simply frowned at the man and said, "I am the assistant master of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu, Kamiya Kaoru, and you are on my property without my permission. I suggest that you go out the way you came, please." _And don't come back_, I had added slightly in my mind.

I did not want this man to bother Kenshin; he already had enough burdens to bear. Why couldn't people just realize that he was only a man, a man made of flesh and blood who did commit horrid sins in the past, but those sins had been the children of war and need, of a time which called for murder. No, I do not like the concept of murder, but I can accept, I can understand the reasons why men and woman had to kill back during the Revolution. Why couldn't others?

I remember seeing a flicker of a smile in his electric blue eyes and with his strange voice answer, "No, no, I'll wait."

My blood boiled. "What's your reason for fighting him?"

He gave me a quizzical glance as if he did not understand the words I used. I sighed going over to him and standing a couple of steps away just for safe measure.

"What's your reason for fighting him?" I had asked again.

I was confident that he would not harm me, because for some reason I knew that the tattooed man still had a semblance of honor meaning he would not bring harm to anyone else other than the person he wished to fight. He remained quiet though. I hated it when people did not answer my questions being curious by nature especially when it dealt with the people I most cherished.

"You heard me," my voice had become stronger, almost to the point of a yell or a cry. I prefer to say it was the yell. "Why? Why do you deem it so important to fight him?"

He had blinked once, twice, three times and then smiled. "I should have guessed that I would have not been the only one to challenge Battousai," he said in that strange dream-like voice of his. "But then again, he slaughtered hundreds."

I had cringed inwardly at the word slaughter; I never saw Kenshin as a slaughterer. Slaughters not only murdered people, but they massacred because they could, because they had the power to do so and did so without reason. Yes, Kenshin had killed, but killed within reason if such a thing were possible. He became an assassin so that future generations could live in peace; he took the blood guilt upon his own heart for the good of all. People should have been grateful to him, helped him bear his weight, but instead of gratitude, he was rewarded with hatred. Though, to be fair, I could see if from the other side as well and still I could not bring myself to agree with their beliefs. My father too had been killed in war, and while I missed him, I could not bring myself to hate or blame the person who took his life. I feel pity actually for the man who had to kill my father; maybe he bears that blood-guilt now.

"He killed for a better future."

The man's eyes had flashed, his voice turned cold. "Then you support what he did? You support a man who murdered?"

I wanted to flinch in that moment. His voice was too cold, too cutting, but I stood my ground for Kenshin. I would fight in my own way for Kenshin. It had and always would be for him.

"No, I do not support what he did, but I have the ability to understand why he did it. Maybe you're too blinded by hatred, revenge, or whatever else to see the person who Kenshin truly is." I remember pausing, searching for an emotion on the man's face; there was none so I continued.

"I don't know why you're here, why you're so steadfast to fight a man who only wants peace in his life. Can't you, can't you all see that he is so damn remorseful that he rarely ever smiles with a true light in his eyes believing that he isn't worthy enough for such joy? Can't you see that if you take him away from me, from his friends, that you too would be doing the exact same thing he did to you."

I had growled in frustration trying to bate back furious tears. I hated crying. I especially hated crying for Kenshin. I shouldn't have to cry for such a good man, but every time I saw him trying to wash away the blood on his hands with a mixture of cloths and soapy water, I could not help myself, and if that made me weak, so be it.

The man's angered had seemed to recede and with a clenched jaw, he spoke, "You love him don't you, that's why you speak of such things. You're just a naive little girl unaware of the true horrors of what he committed."

He had stared straight into my own eyes and spoke in a softer voice, his sword dropping to the ground. "He killed both my uncle and my brother, innocent men."

There was a long pause. Off in the distance, some night bird had cried out harshly.

"Why? Why would he did he do it? What good would come out of the murder of two innocent men? Can you answer that with your naive words, little girl - can you?"

I was stunned for a moment, too shocked by the pain in the man's voice to even breathe. I had let my eyes fall to the ground, a barren ground, and struggled to keep back my tears yet again. I remember feeling an extreme sense of loss for the man with the tattoo, with electric blue eyes, and an uncommon voice. Honestly, I did not know what to say to him. Yes I was angry. He called me naive, basically informed that I had no idea what I was talking about. Maybe it had been true to a point. I never truly lived back during the revolution, I was just a small girl with no real care in the world, but I did know pain and sorrow. I had been alone, lost both parents, and suffered unknowingly for a man who could never love me in return. Yes, I knew pain. I knew pain that was different from others, the same as others, but pain nonetheless.

How dare he say I knew nothing of horror. I stood in front of a horror on that strange March night. On that night I stood face to face with revenge, a darker shade of black than murder could ever be. Revenge killed, destroyed two souls in its wake: the bearer and the enemy, consuming wholly two souls with one stroke. Yes, that strange March night I had faced true horror made of not blood but a sightless soul.

Quietly, I recall speaking with a strength and wisdom that surprised even me. "We, as humans, cannot begin to answer those questions."

He had gazed up at me, but I remained unfazed with words pouring out of my mouth. "You called me a naive little girl who knew nothing of horrors, and maybe you're right to a certain extent. I've never seen the days of the revolution, never seen Kenshin kill, but I have encountered pain and suffering. How dare you say that I know nothing of the horrors of what Kenshin committed, I see it everyday, I see him carry is pain and lowliness, I see men like you carry true horrors of what he intentionally committed - revenge.

"If you kill him, will that not make you a slaughterer just like he. What's the difference in taking one life versus one hundred when all are worth the same price? Would you feel any guilt at all, would you feel a guilt like his own, if you did kill him and left me and all his friends to suffer? If you killed him, you would be just like the man you so hate, so then would you kill yourself?

"I'm sorry that you lost two people dear to you, but don't you dare preach to me about pain. While my pain is different from yours it is still pain. I lost both of my parents, my mother before I can remember, my father at fifteen, taken from me during the wars, killed by some man that killed just like Kenshin and yet I feel no hatred towards that man. I miss my father, I will always miss him, but that does not justify the horror of revenge, of pure hatred.

"Revenge, the thought of hatred, makes men tools of darkness. They far go past just evil, they are consumed by only that darkness and pain. I pity them actually, for they are too weak to see past their own pain and onto others' pain around them..."

He had stood so quickly that I never saw him grabbed my wrist in a tight grip, though I remember not being afraid of the man. I would stand strong for Kenshin in my own way, fight in my own way. I was sick of revenge, of hatred, of people thinking me as stupid and naive for I was neither. Why does someone have to be labeled naive because they try to think of the best of mankind, try to understand all people, why are we labeled the naive when they can see nothing but the evil side of everything? Doesn't that make them naive or maybe that makes them ignorant?

"I think you should be silent, girl."

"My name is Kaoru, not girl."

We stared at one another for a long time before he broke contact. "You say true horror is revenge," he stated not expecting an answer, but I had nodded anyway. He seemed to be far off in another world, a world I could not enter, did not wish to enter. "That I would become the person I hate most if I killed Battousai..."

"Yes," I stated, my voice shaking for the first time. "Yes, if you killed him, you would give yourself into the darkness. True strength comes with forgiving not killing."

"How so," he asked with that uncommon voice of his. "How would killing make me weaker?"

"As I said, you would be giving yourself into the darkness which any person could fall into. What strength is there in that, tell me? What strength lies within something that anyone can easily do?"

He was quiet again, deep in thought. "And forgiving is stronger?"

"How many people do you know that can forgive?"

He had answered in an even stranger voice, "You."

"Not as much as I would like to, though." I had answered him honestly. No human can completely forgive and forget, but we, I can try to live without hatred. No human is strong enough, humanity is in its nature weak reverting back to darkness quickly. I believe in the innate goodness of the soul, but it is the kind of goodness which a child holds - completely innocent and completely hurtful and mean, unknowing of what they do, and unable to communicate clearly at times. That was the kind of innocence I thought humanity possessed.

He had looked past me then, his electric blue eyes dazing at a point on the far gate, and I let him have his silence settling myself on the porch, my back against a pillar a little ways from where he sat. I felt comfortable in his presence as though he were a long lost friend. In that moment, in that strange March moment, he had become my companion of sorts. When I think back to it, I'm still surprised at how easily I had let my guard down next to him. Even if I knew he was not going to lay a finger on me, he was still a stranger and strangers could not be trusted as people usually say. I laugh when I think about that notion, if it had not been for my habit of adopting strangers then I never would have met any of my self-made family; we all would have remained, as they call, strangers to one another.

Stranger is such an unusual word; its makes a person seem like nothing more than an object to stay away from, a negative connotation. A stranger has no name and therefore, to some, is not at all a person. I do not think I ever really thought of anyone as a stranger with that negative connotation the word carries; those people were people that I had not yet had the chance to know - a face, not a name, can prove so much yet so little. Just like that man with the electric blue eyes, his face only skimmed the surface of his pain. The man became to me on that strange March night a distant friend and brother almost, our bond was pain, different pain but pain nonetheless.

There had been the smell of sakura blossoms in the air, a light but warm breeze, and a foreshadowing spark of rain in the sky. Off in the distance, one of the chimes around the dojo played softly, so softly that it brought the peace to a placidness which only calm water could carry. It had been a strange March night, one that I never would forget until the day I died.

I remember regarding the man from the side of my eyes, seeing his hunched form deep in thought, viewing though not hearing his breathing, and I remember feeling an exhaustion that I had never before experienced sweep over me, and then I closed my eyes. I do not even recall falling asleep, and I still cannot believe how foolish an act that had been, yet I felt no need to chastise myself further. Somehow, in some strange way, I knew that I had to fall asleep, that I was meant to fall asleep.

The last image I remember was the man with electric blue eyes' hunched form, his steady breathing, his dark hair waving in a warm breeze. He seemed almost handsome in that moment. When I opened my eyes the next day, the sun on my face, I awoke to that image in my mind, thinking to see him in the exact same position as the night before, yet only to find him gone, vanished without a trace. Just as that night, I shall always remember that man in that ponderous, painful position. I will remember his electric blue eyes, his uncommon voice, his pain, his tattoo and the bond that I felt with him that night, that bond signaling that we were friends, that we both held a deep respect for one another.

We both, on that strange March night, shared an understanding as silent deal was made.

As I stood up, I can clearly recall seeing the sides of a paper rustling in the wind, flapping like a bird in flight, a kunai holding its form into a support beam. I smiled then, laughing almost, that my new friend had not left without a trace and curious all the same. In my heart, I knew Kenshin would be safe from another man who wanted revenge, and I knew that yet another man was safe from the evil which instigated revenge.

As I took the paper in steady hands, unfolded it with quiet ease, a peace settled over my soul. It was a note, a simple note that I would always cherish just like that man's memory. His hand writing was choppy, a bit hard to read - it was something I did not expect from a man who wielded so much power in his ki and voice, and it read:

_I do not want to become like that image of a man I hate. Maybe your Kenshin is neither the Battousai I think he is nor the man you think he is, but I do not wish to bring you any more pain, and I do not wish to have any more pain on my soul. You said last night that true strength was in forgiveness because any one can give into hatred, and that it takes more strength to forgive than hate. I will think about your words and I thank you for them as well. Your Kenshin is safe. I will bring no harm to him, you have my word. Thank you; you truly are a peace maker._

He did not sign the letter, not that I expected him to. I rather liked not knowing who the man was, my friend. Some would call him a stranger to me since I never did find out his name, but to me, he was a man who was more than whatever his name could be. In one night, he had come to settle a type of stillness within him, a relaxation, a dropping of the desire to kill. He held my respect for that.

On that strange March night, I think he finally let his pain go and found his freedom.

And maybe, one day, Kenshin will do the same.

Maybe, one day, I will see an unrestricted smile on my love's face.

Maybe one day...

**A/N:** I might make this into a longer story though it would not be that long, probably five chapters at the most if I do decide to make it longer. Oh well. Thank you for reading even if you did think this story sucked. I tried to keep Kaoru in character having her fight in her own way, though she could have fought with a bokken, but I can see her talking (or yelling) some sense into Kenshin's enemies, as well.

I know the grammar sucks so if anyone would like to edit this story just ask.

Thank you for reading,  
_Espiritus _


End file.
